Alavidha
by angela evans
Summary: Saying goodbye is often the hardest thing to do. (Originally "Goodbye To You")
1. Goodbye To You

**Goodbye To You**

**Spoilers: **"The Confession"

**Summary: **Saying goodbye is often the hardest thing to do.

**A/N:**  These things have a life of their own, what can I say? But thanks to Skye for helping me connect it all, and as always for being a great beta.

"Alavidha" means 'goodbye' in Hindi

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of them . . . but I'm open to donations of handsome CIA agents . . . 

Of all the things I believe in  
I just want to get it over with  
tears from behind my eyes  
but I do not cry  
Counting the days that passed me by

Goodbye to you           
Goodbye to everything I thought I knew   
You were the one I loved   
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

_"Goodbye to You" ~ Michelle Branch_

The cool misty air seemed to stick to her, clinging to her arms and face like droplets of sweat. As Sydney stared down at the cold gray marble headstone, she wondered why had she come here? Coming to say goodbye to the woman she thought she had loved and mourned already. She'd come here to say goodbye to a woman who didn't exist.

_Laura Bristow, Beloved wife and mother_.

Coming here, she'd had it all planned out. Go to the grave, make a pretty speech about how she knew the truth but that she preferred to remember a mother who loved her, so she was saying goodbye, then lay the little white flowers on the grave and walk away forever.

But she couldn't. Coming here brought back so many memories. The funeral. The trips to her mother's grave with her father. What he must have felt, bringing his daughter to visit her mother's grave - her mother who was a spy for the KGB and had only married him to get access to CIA secrets. A woman who would give birth to his only child just to provide a cover for her mission. No wonder he was distant towards her. Every time he looked at her he must see Laura and wonder.

Sydney looked down at the flowers in her hand. They looked wilted. They looked like the way she felt on the inside. Tired and hurt. Tried of the lies she had been hurt by. She knew this was a mistake – she should have done what she had originally thought of doing. Going to see Vaughn's father to apologize for what her mother had done. But what difference would that make? He'd still be dead and no amount of white flowers was going to bring back an eight-year-old boy's father. She didn't belong there – Vaughn did. 

Sydney sighed and brushed a damp lock of hair from her face. Why had she come here? Why her mother? She should just go to Danny's grave, that's what she should do. But she knew that would be harder in some ways. If she went there she'd be facing her mother and her growing feelings for someone else.  She wondered if her mother had been a normal, loving, non-spy mother, would she herself have become a spy? Would she have been happy and confident enough to ignore the SD-6 recruiter? Would she and Danny be married now? Sydney's eyes teared up at the thought of all that her mother could have stolen from her. She clenched her fist around the flower stems, her nails digging into her palms. She had to stop blaming her mother for things. She had to stop blaming other people for decisions she had made. 

"Mom," she choked out. The word sounded so alien as it hung in the air, lingering. Her throat felt dry, and she swallowed hard. "Mom." The second time was just as acidic as the first. Tears stung her eyes and she bit her lip to keep from crying. She couldn't help but remember this one time when she was about six years old and her mother was teaching her how to make cookies.

"Now we add the dry ingredients to the wet," Laura said as she wiped a dusting of flour off her daughter's nose, "Not to our face."

_Sydney giggled. "I wanna add the chips, Mommy."_

_"In a minute, Sweetie. First we have to mix the batter together." The gentle whir of the electric mixer echoed around the kitchen as Laura deftly blended the ingredients together into a smooth tan mixture. Sydney stood on a step stool and carefully emptied the bag of chocolate chips into the bowl. By the time Jack came home from 'work' the smell of freshly baked cookies hung in the air._

_"Have my girls been making cookies?" he asked._

_"Chocolate chip!" Sydney exclaimed._

_Jack ruffled his daughter's hair. "My favorite."_

_"You have to eat dinner first," Laura smiled. "Both of you."_

It was shortly after that that her father began working later and longer, often leaving town on 'business trips', and her parents marriage was becoming strained. There was tension between them and young Sydney was worried that they'd get divorced. Jack became distant towards both Laura and Sydney. Soon afterwards there was the accident, her mother's death. Sydney found it hard to reconcile the mother in her mind with the KGB agent that had killed over a dozen CIA agents, including Vaughn's father.  Vaughn had been eight when his father died, so Sydney estimated that it was about 1976. She would have been two. 

She remembered what her father had said to her at Thanksgiving, that if he could, he would give Sydney back her mother. She knew now that he meant the mother she knew, the kind, caring, can-do-no-wrong Laura Bristow that existed only in Sydney's memories. She wondered how her father had felt when he found out. He must have further estranged himself from her for fear that she'd find out the secret and be devastated. He'd rather she'd have one 'good' parent than two dysfunctional ones.

She sighed. "Laura." God, that sounded strange, too. But how was she supposed to address this…woman who had been her mother, but wasn't. Out of habit she called her 'mom', but that was just too personal now. Sydney cleared her throat and started again.

"Mother. Laura. I know your secret. I know all about those CIA agents. I know how Dad covered for you, what it cost him. I know I should by angry with you for all that you robbed me of – my mother, a normal life, my fiancé.  But I keep remembering how," she paused as the tears threatened to come, "I keep remembering the good times. And I know that you did love me, even if it was just a little bit. I can't pretend you weren't the woman who was my mother, so I'm just going to say goodbye to her. I won't visit you again, because if I do, it'll destroy that. Goodbye, Mom."  
She laid the flowers on the edge of the tombstone and walked away.

As she walked over to her car, she noticed the silence of the cemetery, of the mute tombstones. Her eyes swept over them and caught something that didn't belong. Something living. 

She'd know his profile anywhere. She stepped off the path and onto the worn grass, making her way over to Vaughn, who was kneeling in front of a tombstone. His father's – she could just make it out.

"Goodbye, Dad," he whispered. Sydney hung back, not wanting to interrupt such a private moment. Vaughn stood up and turned to leave.

She knew the moment his eyes turned on her. "Hello," she said shyly. 

He seemed shocked to see her, but quickly regained his poise. "Hey. Visiting your fiancé?" 

"No," she said, shaking her head, "My mother."

"Oh," he smiled kind of sheepishly.

"I was saying goodbye," she told him. In a way she felt guilty for having visited Laura.

He smiled slightly again. "Saying goodbye to the past, huh?"

"Yeah, I just had to separate the mother I knew from the . . ." she could feel the tears again. "The woman who killed all those people, including your father. I'm sorry, Vaughn."

"Hey, hey, no," his voice was soft and consoling as he wiped away an errant tear that had slid down her cheek. "You have nothing to apologize for. Laura Bristow's deeds aren't yours."

"Thanks," she said, wishing that this was some other world, where her mother was a good woman, where she and Vaughn had casually met and could be having coffee right now instead of standing in a graveyard. Among the living instead of the dead.

They stood for a moment, each contemplating what might have been, until Vaughn took her hand. "There's somebody I want you to meet. Sydney Bristow, meet William Vaughn, my father."

"Hello, Mr. Vaughn," Sydney said to his silent grave. "You should be very proud of your son – he's a very good agent. And he's my guardian angel." She smiled.

"He'd like you," Vaughn told her.

A/N: I had intended to follow this up with a Vaughn piece of him talking to his father before Sydney arrives, but nothing seems right. Hopefully I'll get to write the piece I really want to – Jack saying goodbye to Laura.


	2. Good Enough

**Good Enough **

**Spoilers: **"The Confession"

**Summary: **Saying goodbye is often the hardest thing to do.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of them . . . but I'm open to donations of handsome CIA agents. . .

**A/N:**  This is part two of 'Alavidha' ~ part one was Sydney at her mother's grave. This is before "The Box, pts I & II".

_Hey your glass is empty,  
it's a hell of a long way home,  
Why don't you let me take you,  
it's no good to go alone,  
I never would have opened up  
but you seemed so real to me,  
After all the bullshit I've heard  
it's refreshing not to see,  
I don't have to pretend,  
she doesn't expect it from me_

_So just let me try  
and I will be good to you  
Just let me try  
and I will be there for you,  
I'll show you why  
you're so much more than good enough_

_          "Good Enough" ~ Sarah McLachlan_

"Goodbye, Dad," Vaughn found himself whispering.  He'd come here to explain – if that was even the right word, to explain everything to his father.  Why he'd joined the CIA, why he'd broken his promise to his mother, why he was risking everything for the daughter of the woman who had taken his father from him.  He'd done the best he could. He stood up and turned to leave.

Sydney Bristow was standing there. "Hello," she said shyly when he found himself at a loss for words. 

He knew the surprise at seeing her was written on his face and he tried hard to regain a clear face. "Hey. Visiting your fiancé?" 

He saw the brief look of pain in her eyes and instantly regretted saying it. "No," she said, shaking her head, "My mother."

"Oh," he said, for lack of anything better. _Great, Vaughn, just great_.

"I was saying goodbye," she told him. He sensed she was feeling guilty again, for being who she was – Laura Bristow's daughter. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until she stopped feeling that way.

He smiled slightly again. "Saying goodbye to the past, huh?"

"Yeah, I just had to separate the mother I knew from the . . ." Was she crying? He could swear he saw tears forming in her beautiful brown eyes. "The woman who killed all those people, including your father. I'm sorry, Vaughn."

"Hey, hey, no," he said, and he found himself reaching out and touching her, wiping away a tear that had slid down her cheek. "You have nothing to apologize for. Laura Bristow's deeds aren't yours."

"Thanks," she said softly, and he could feel her warm breath on his hand that was still cupping her cheek. Vaughn found himself wishing that this were some other world, where they had met not as agent and handler, but two normal people. But what did they know about normal? Their world was full of lies and death, destruction and intrigue.

They stood for a moment, and then he found himself taking her hand. "There's somebody I want you to meet. Sydney Bristow, meet William Vaughn, my father."

"Hello, Mr. Vaughn," Sydney said to his silent grave. "You should be very proud of your son – he's a very good agent. And he's my guardian angel." She smiled.

He could feel himself blushing and he wished desperately that Sydney wouldn't see. "He'd like you," Vaughn told her.  And it was true – Sydney was exactly the type of woman his father would want him to be with.  She was smart, funny, brave, generous, and dedicated. Vaughn figured he must suck at life, meeting the girl who could be – no, should be – The One, and he can't have her.

In fact, that was why he had been visiting his father. He wanted advice.  After they had been told the truth about his father and her mother, he had breeched handler-agent protocol and hugged her. The minute his arms were around her, he knew he never wanted to let go. And that was very, very dangerous.

He had known his job was dangerous. He knew that from the time he was eight, when he found out his father had been murdered. It had been confirmed when his mother had cried for days over his decision to join the CIA. Vaughn remembered that incident clearly.

_"Mom, I have something important to tell you," he said, hanging his head and not meeting her gaze._

_"What is it, Michael?" she asked in her slightly accented voice._

_"I've joined the CIA."_

_Her immediate reaction was to slap him right across the face. She was fast, he never saw it coming. His cheek stung where her palm had connected with his flesh . . . physical pain mirroring the emotional pain he felt inside._

_"Why?" she demanded. "Michel, pourquoi?" She was reverting to her native tongue. Not a good sign._

_"I want to be a hero, like Dad."_

_"Voulez-vous mourir comme votre père?" she demanded – Do you want to die like your father?_

_No, he didn't. He just wanted to know how and why his father had died. He owed him that much._

Vaughn could feel a faint tingling in his cheek, a ghost of the slap his mother had inflicted on him all those years ago. He wanted to be able to tell his mother everything – tell her that he knew how his father died, that he had met the most perfect woman on earth, that he finally felt like he had proven himself worthy of being William Vaughn's son.

He had gone in search of advice from his father, but the cold white headstone had stood as silent as ever. Vaughn knew that he was out on his own here, he'd have to figure out what to tell his mother when he saw her next time. Yes, Mom, I'm eating my vegetables, and I met the girl of my dreams, only her mother killed Dad, and it's all classified information, but other than that, I'm fine. Yeah, that would go over real well. 

He looked over at Sydney, who was deep in conversation with his father's headstone. She was the only other one in this whole crazy world that knew his secrets. Oh sure, the whole thing with his father and her mother was office knowledge, but there were some things that only he and she knew – private, inner feelings of failure – that he hadn't been a hero like his father, that she would become what she feared most. 

He knew that this would be the last time that he would come to his father's grave. Just like Sydney, he had to put the past behind him. He'd done what he had wanted to do all along – to find out how his father died. Now he had a new mission, to help Sydney take down those bastards who had taken so much from her.  He hoped he would be good enough.

**A/N:** Remember this? Anyways, I was going to make this a three-parter, the third part being Jack at Laura's 'grave'. But now, so much has happened that I don't think I will. I hadn't even gotten an idea for it anyway, and I like Breaking Souls better as far as Jack/Laura stuff. :)


End file.
